Parenting for Dummies
by athenaswings
Summary: Jack Drake hasn't accepted that his son is Robin. Frankly, the way things are going, he never will.


Parenting for dummies: How to raise a Robin

Summery: Jack Drake never did accept that his son was Robin. Frankly, the way things were going, he never will.

Jack Drake hated the news. Whether it's the news on TV or the newspaper didn't matter, he hated them just the same. It wasn't because news in Gotham tended to be dark and filled with grizzly murders, it wasn't because he hated the newscaster; it wasn't even because he was a disinterested member of society content with his own world. It was because the damned press can't seem to report anything that didn't have _something_ to with the so called costumed heroes.

_Click_

Superman stops burglary…

_Click_

Police in Bludhaven finds the bigwigs of famed drug ring dangling in ropes…

_Click_

Flash shows up for a speech on…

_Click_

The batsignal was once more seen lighted over Gotham last night…

The TV flickered on, taunting him, reminding him of his own failure. He threw the remote at the wall, its batteries falling out of its hold. Jack stomped up to his room and slammed the door shut. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think that his son-his _son_- was jumping on rooftops and chasing shady characters down the street. What did he think this all was? A friggin game that what. He should be at home, safe in his bed, not outside pounding people into walls. Having Superman and Batman around was one thing, but letting them get kids-_his_ kid- to run around with them it's…

It's not right.

Tim.

That was what it all came down to. Timothy Drake.

Where was he now? Most likely on a roof, jumping around and treating Gotham like it was some giant playground. He had thought that Tim was smart, much too smart to be fooled by _him_. That he was much too smart to be fooled by the Batman, fooled by that good-for-nothing Bruce Wayne.

Robin was, as he always was at this time of night, punching a random crook's face in. The bastard had nearly shot him, it was fortunate that he managed to avoid the shots by twirling around in midair. Looks like some good came from that last gymnastics session, thank _you_ Dick.

Sometimes he wonders why he isn't in Arkam, locked in with the rest of the crazies. Then again, anyone who decided to wander about at night in a mask and cape was most likely hit on the head as a child. He had been given a chance to walk away from it all, a chance to live with his family once more, a chance to stop all the lies.

He refused it.

He could have lived a normal life, no more getting hit by bullets and no more risking-his-life-to-save-the-world scenarios; a run-of-mill life. But it wouldn't have been his life. He would be waking up in cold sweat every evening, dreaming of rooftops and hearing the swishing sound of the jump line. He'd be thinking endlessly of dark, smoky nights. The squeaking of a hundred bats would forever haunt his thoughts. Thanks, but no thanks.

To give up Robin was to give up everything. The lines that had divided Timothy Drake from Robin weren't blurred; they had ceased to exist entirely. Those few weeks without the mask and cape had nearly killed him from the inside out. It was during that time that Tim had experienced what it was like to be one of the living dead. To live and breath and not live at all and be gasping for breath and feel like he was being suffocated and and and…

just and.

There were too many ands. Too many emotions had passed through him, it was like they were running around like speedsters; determined to drive him insane.

He hadn't lasted a month. He lasted two weeks, three days, and five hours. He counted. After the last five hours he had packed his stuff and fled to the Batcave, begging Bruce to take him back. He would have done anything to be able to become Robin again, even if it meant jumping off a cliff. That same night he was flying from Gotham's rooftops and doing what he believed he was meant to do. Besides, beating up criminals was a good way to relieve stress.

He hadn't talked to his father or Dana since. He still went to the same school, and his friends (the few who didn't have kevlar tendencies) still believed that he stayed at his parents' house.

Thank God his parents hadn't informed anyone else of his departure.

He hadn't even left them a note explaining why he left. He had cleared out his room completely, leaving only one picture frame behind. It was the last picture that was taken of them before all the crap happened. Ironically it was a picture taken when Jack and Dana had to go abroad again, leaving Tim behind. This time it would be the other way around. It was Tim's way of saying goodbye.

It was another Parent-Teacher conference day and as usual the school handed out invitations to the parents via the students. Tim took his and made a mental note to throw it into the trash once he got home. It was a good thing his dad hadn't attended a lot of those over the years, it would be perfectly normal for him to miss this one too.

"So Jack are you going?" Jim Stevenson said

"Going where?"

"The parent-teacher conference thing, didn't you get the invite?"

Pause

"I don't know, maybe I won't"

"C'mon man! You know, these things might actually mean a lot to the kids!"

"We should go"

Jack looked at Dana in shock. "Are you insane? Why should we? That brat was the one who decided that he didn't need us!"

"Well, then" Dana declared, "It would be a good time to talk to him don't you think?"

"But…"

"No buts Jack, we're going"

Dana liked Tim, she really did. Granted she didn't like what he did during his spare time, but she liked _him_. She was angry at first, angry enough that she agreed when Jack forced him to 'retire'. But the way Tim had acted during the entire time had disturbed her; it was like he was on the death row, counting the days before his execution.

It scared her.

It was like Tim had fallen into depression, one deep spiral into the darkness. It wasn't long until he stopped functioning at all. He had read books at first (textbooks, Jack was scared that the normal action/mystery novels would inspire him to rebel again) trying to pass the time, but after the first few days he just lay down on his bed, emotionless. It was like watching someone in a coma, and it didn't thrill her one bit.

Dana wanted for her family to be together again, maybe not like it was before but together still. Where Jack wasn't constantly breathing down Tim's neck and where Tim didn't look like he was in hell. She was being delusional, and she knew this. But she wanted to try at the very least, try to understand Tim's motives for doing what he did.

That's all she really wanted, to try.


End file.
